The bird that plucked the Olive Leaf(has) been circlin' like a record 'round the spindle of my mindWhere the needle's worn the grooves too deep,And scratched the wax that's blistered from the heat besides.From any movement in the room -If my cat walked by the arm skippedBut to my surprise, my interrupting cat improvedThe sound already so severely compromised.

The needle's worn the grooves too deep. (x4)

I'm a donkey's jaw on a desert duneBeside the bush that Moses sawThat burned and yet was not consumed!She's the silver coin I lost!I'm the sheep who slipped away!We pray the fingers crossed,But you listen patiently anyway.

I wrote a little song for youWith a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhymeTo repeat what you already knew,As the stones thrown at your window tapped in syncopation.You kept a distance out of fear you'd break,But what good's a single windchime hanging quiet all alone?The music our collisions would makeIs the sound that turns "the road that leads us back home"Into "home."

The music our collisions make! (x4)

I had a rusty spade, but I'm not the fighting sort!If I was Samson I'd have found that harlot's bladeAnd cut my own hair short!Then, in a market dimly lit, I'd come casually to pay:"You see, my coins are counterfeit.Would you accept them anyway? "

So spare me your goodbyes,Your waving-handkerchief goodbyes!Given my tendency to err so on the sentimental side,I will spare you my goodbyes.The truth belongs to G-d!The mistakes were mine.